


Wake

by grasssea



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Playing Around With Stuff, Poor Underappreciated Guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasssea/pseuds/grasssea
Summary: Amenadiel and Dan strike up an unlikely friendship as Amenadiel grieves and tries to deal with loss, human style.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still playing around with this, working my way up to a real pairing. I think it has potential. Weird, weird potential.

 

They meet in the police station, not for the first time or even the third. But it's the first time they've been together, without Lucifer Morningstar in between them.    
  
Dan eyes Amenadiel suspiciously. "Your brother left already," he says, brusque and straight to the point. Lucifer has never spelled anything but trouble, and people related to him can't be much better. "He and Chloe went on a stakeout."   
  
"I know, I- I'm waiting for someone else." Amenadiel's shoulders are broad, but his voice is gentle. He still carries himself like a fighter, and Dan knows there are more than a few watchful eyes on him. Police are suspicous by nature of loiterers. "Charlotte Richards, do you know her?"   
  
"The defense lawyer," Dan nods, relaxing. Charlotte Richards might be acting odd, but she's miles better than Morningstar. "Yeah, she's inside, working on a case, I think. I could take a message, if you want," he offers, surprising even himself. He might be demoted, but he's not an errand boy.    
  
"No, thank you." Amenadiel replies, more gracious than his brother by far. "I'll just wait here, if that's okay, Detective?"

"Don't do anything Lucifer would, and you should be fine." Dan quips before he remembers that some people actually like Morningstar- shocking as it may be.    
  
Fortunately, Amenadiel chuckles. "I'll try not to start any wars or major theological schisms." he says. He seems more reserved then the last few times Dan has seen him, not relaxed but… muted somehow. Like a light on a dimmer. 

He’s wearing all black. It isn’t that strange in Los Angeles, lots of people wear black, especially black leather jackets- Dan is wearing one himself. Yet something about his demeanor suggests grief, a hint of puffiness about the eyes, a rubberband tightness to the voice. Charlotte Richards had been wearing all black too, Dan remembers, she’d looked like a widow prowling through the precinct, a flurry of associate lawyers in white buttondowns behind her. 

Dan considers himself tactful, but, well, Lucifer has been a mess recently, and he’s dragging Chloe down with him. Some things you just need to know. 

He takes a step closer to Amenadiel’s chair, lowers his voice so the whole precinct doesn’t hear, and asks, “I’m really sorry, but have you lost someone lately?”

Amenadiel goes stiff as a corpse, and for a second Dan is afraid, really truly afraid. Then the moment passes and he says slowly like his voice might just flat out break, “How could you tell?”

The smartass answer is  _ I’m a detective _ , but sometimes it pays to be a little human. Dan tries to smile gently, but it just makes his facial muscles hurt. 

“Lucifer has been acting out a lot lately, and then you came in and… you’re clearly hurting. I’m sorry for your loss.” he adds automatically, but it doesn’t ring true, the words are too well used to be anything but tasteless in the context of true grief. Sympathies are like handkerchiefs, they must be washed out and pressed regularly, not carried around for months and whipped out at every crisis. 

“Our brother died recently.” Amenadiel admits. He does not say it easily, the words drop one by one, as if each is a trial to speak aloud. “Suffice to say, none of us are coping well.”

That… that explains a lot. Dan instantly feels a lot better about not punching Lucifer in the jaw. He clears his throat, folds his hands behind his back, tries to remember his many seminars on grief sensitivity. Even after years of dealing with the families of the recently killed, it’s still nearly impossible to say the right things, because what right things are there to say?

“I’ll tell you if Mrs. Richards finishes up.” Dan says awkwardly. “And, um, my condolences. Losing a family member, that’s never easy to deal with.”

Amenadiel is as stoic as a statue of some ancient king, and honestly Dan can’t really blame him. He beats a hasty retreat to his desk and goes back to sorting through emails sent by a dead woman to her many, many estranged relatives. 

He does look up every now and then, to check if Amenadiel is still hanging out by the front desk, and at the end of his shift he ventures back to the booking area to check if Charlotte Richards is still there and to swing by their coffee machine. They always have donuts in booking, it’s like some sort of magic. 

“She’s going to be a few more minutes,” Dan informs Amenadiel. “Apparently the guy won’t shut up. Want a donut?”   
  
Amenadiel takes the proffered cruller gingerly. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dan tells him, “I’m off now, but no one should give you any trouble. And, um, take care of Lucifer, will you? He’s a dick but he’s our dick, and he’s been acting awfully strange. It’s starting to worry people.”

“Believe me, I understand the feeling,” Amenadiel says, and flashes a smile that’s just a little too wide at the corners of his mouth. 

It’s not a sympathy card, but donuts are how cops are trained to express grief, and Amenadiel seems to understand. Dan goes to pick up his daughter. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


 

They meet at Lux, around midday. It’s empty, Lucifer scared the cleaners off earlier that morning. (Grief does not sit well on his brother, anger suits him even worse.)

Amenadiel knows the human man, recognizes him. Daniel Espinoza. Clever, trouble making Chloe Decker’s ex. A policeman to the core, and not necessarily in the best way, but overall a reliable human. Steady, dull, and admirably kind. 

“Hey- wait, are you day drinking?” Dan asks. There is a thin file folder in his hands, along with his car keys. 

Amenadiel shrugs. “It’s my brother’s bar, I’m allowed. If you’re looking for Lucifer, he’s not here. He stormed off about an hour ago.”

“Oh. Um, do you know where he went?” Dan shifts uncomfortably. “Chloe wanted me to give him some files, something to do with his stipend for his consulting work.”

“No idea.” Amenadiel says quietly, and swills his gin in his glass. It’s not his favorite, too bitter with a plantlike aftertaste, but he’s already gone through the bar’s supply of maraschino cherries. 

Dan Espinoza jumps down the last few steps, approaching Amenadiel cautiously, like he wants to be going something, but isn’t sure what he can do other than move forward. “Chloe is really worried about him.” 

“She’s a little late to the party.” Amenadiel quips, then takes pity on poor, mortal Dan. “I mean to say, Lucifer makes a habit out of worrying people. He has a… unique personality.”

“I’ve seen. So, when will he be back?”

Amenadiel’s brow furrows. “Who?”   


“Lucifer.” Dan’s arms are resting on the bar now, even if he wis leaning back a little. His presence makes Amenadiel remember how he appears, a little disheveled, shoulder’s taut with worry and grief. He is, as humans would say, a ‘mess’. 

“Oh, right. I’m not sure. Probably before this evening, but maybe not. Like I said, he’s-”

“Himself.” Dan finishes, and smiles wryly. “I hope you guys are holding up. Losing family, it takes a toll on you.”

“It does,” Amenadiel agrees, voice falling flat. It’s that or let it twist with anger, the unmatchable agony of sorrow. “It’s… very new to us. We’ve never lost really a family member before.”

He shouldn’t be admitting this to a human, of all people, but there isn’t anyone else to talk to. Dr. Martin isn’t answering her phone, mother is off at her job and coping in her own way, Lucifer is pointedly not coping in his. There is nothing but for comfort but an assortment of alcoholic beverages, and he’s trying to restrain himself from going too far down that path. One or two is acceptable, but he’s not dealing with a hangover again. 

“Really?” there’s a note of skepticism in Dan’s voice, but he shakes it off quickly. “That must make it even worse. I mean, it doesn’t get easier, but… you learn how to cope. It does get easier, with time. I know that might not be helpful, right now, but it does.”

Amenadiel finds that almost impossible to believe, but humans are the experts when it comes to death. They might not have invented it, but they have perfected it. “How?” he asks. 

There is a screeching sound as Dan pulls up a chair. His folder sits in front of him, forgotten or perhaps merely shelved for the time being. “I don’t know. You get older, I guess, and you have more reasons to keep it together. That’s definitely a big part of it. But also… once you know you can live through it, you can live through it again. Once you know that you can come to terms with things, move on, you get better at looking for the ways to do so. I was twelve, when my mom died. I thought it was the end of the world- but it wasn’t. Things just… kept moving.”   


“They do, don’t they?” Amenadiel tries to muster up a smile, but keeps getting sidetracked by the idea of losing a parent. Mother had gone to Hell, yes, but she hadn’t really been gone. He’d known exactly where she was. The misery had been matched with resentment and frustration, and there had been no confusion. No sudden heart lurching despair. Her exile had been different from death, a true death, sudden and bewildering. The sort of deaths humans got, the sort of death Uriel had gotten, that came fast and left your loved ones with respite or satisfaction for the hereafter. No knowledge of where the missing had gone, just dark suspicions and terrifying nightmares. “I’m just… having a lot of difficulty. Knowing what to do with myself.”

Without mom, he has no outlet for his anger. No promises of revenge or a brighter tomorrow. It’s easy when he can channel himself into something, harder when he’s left alone with an empty bar and nothing to do with himself. 

Dan Espinoza pats him on the back. “Grieve. Do things that remind you of whoever you lost, but that keep you busy. Join a running group, or something. We don’t lose cops in the field very often these days, but when we do we try to keep the machine moving. Honour them, without letting ourselves grind to a halt, if that makes any sense.”

It does, but that doesn’t mean Amenadiel has to like it. Getting up the motivation to move himself, rather than being idly dragged in the currents of mother and brother in their respective warpaths of lamentation, is spectacle of willpower that he just can’t muster up. It is a sweet thought though. 

“Thank you, Detective.” he says, standing and reaching for Daniel’s sheaf of papers. “I can probably get these to Lucifer, so you don’t have to wait around.”

“He actually needs to sign them… so maybe I should….” 

“Really.” Amenadiel insists. “I not be myself these days, but I think I can get my little brother to sign some papers. I don’t want him to be wasting the LAPD’s time just because he’s off brooding.”   


Dan backs up, hands spread in surrender. “If you really think so. If he won’t sign them, try to get them back to me, okay? H and R gets really picky about this sort of thing.”

“I promise,” Amenadiel assures him, trying to exude an aura of control, the mantle of self righteous, self confident power he had once worn so easily. “Thank you.” he says again and sincerely means it. Another voice, someone to talk to, lightens his heart more than he thought possible. It’s nice, feeling a little less alone. 

God, he needs some more friends on this stupid plane of existence. Preferably ones not involved in Lucifer’s love life, although knowing Lucifer someone fitting that description is probably now impossible to find within a one hundred mile radius of Los Angeles. 

“You know, you’re not so bad when you’re sober and not around your brother,” Dan says, which Amenadiel chooses to take as a compliment, for the sake of his emotional wellbeing. “I hope… that things work out with your family.”

“So do I,” Amenadiel says, and turns back to his drink. One sip reminds him how much he hates gin, and he decides to start looking for something non alcoholic. Lux has to have pineapple juice, or bottled water, right?

Dan has the gall to laugh at him on his way out.

  
  
  


They meet on the corner outside the police station, so Amenadiel can hand Dan back his papers. He’d considered forging Lucifer’s signature when it became apparent the stubborn idiot wasn’t going to just sign them, but he has enough sins under his belt as it is.   


“Sorry.”

“Hey, if you did your best, I’m not going to fault you.” Dan says, then a little more awkwardly, human male bravado clashing with human kindness, “You doing okay?”   


“Yes,” Amenadiel says, and it’s only half a lie. “I watched some movies. The Weaponizer ones, have you heard about them?”

“Heard about them? I love those! The cinematography is really a step up from the Body Bags movies, and they went all in on the explosions. Did you see all seven?”

“I’m only up to three?” Amenadiel says, a little startled by the sudden outburst of emotion. “I’m not sure they’re quite realistic though.”   


“If you want realism, try the Dead Spy Walking series,” Dan suggests with the air of a sage mentor, a grizzled expert in the field of what Amenadiel suspects are actually very tacky if entertaining movies. “They’re a little more gritty, but they still have all the good fight scenes.”   


Amenadiel nods, “I’ll… remember that.”

  
  
  
  


“Hey!” Dan says cheerfully, more delighted than he would have expected to see Lucifer’s strange, inexplicably not British brother in the middle of a crime scene. “Are you the guy who wrestled down the muggers?”

“They escaped,” Amenadiel says, a bit apologetically, batting off the paramedic who is hovering over him. 

“According to reports there were three of them when they jumped the bank car drivers.” Dan says. “Them escaping without the money is pretty impressive, even if they did manage to…” he nods gently to the ambulance, where their corpse lays on a stretcher. He remembers what he’s supposed to be doing here; ie. his job, and pulls out a notebook. “Did you see what happened?”

“Not at first.” Amenadiel says. “I heard the gunshots from the coffee shop and was worried someone might be hurt so I ran over.”    
  
“And singlehandedly foiled some heavily armed robbers with what looks like a well thought out plan.” Dan finishes. He’s enough of a professional to not spill any delicate case details, but he remembers them well enough, the escape car, the timing, the distraction. It probably would have gone off without a sitch if not for, well, Amenadiel.

“They’re no archangels,” Amenadiel says serenely, “I may be humbled, but I can handle a few human thugs.”

“What were you even doing in this part of town?” Dan asks wonderingly. “We’re pretty far from Lux.”

“Post tai chi latte,” Amenadiel explains, then explains further when he notices Dan’s confusion. “I’ve been trying to… keep myself busy.”

“Riiight,” Dan takes down the rest of the details, of the attack and Amenadiel’s latte induced involvement, before going off book and asking, “Did you finish the Weaponizer movies? What about the other ones, the ones I suggested?”

“I got to six, but I thought that the quality dropped off significantly so I didn’t watch seven.” Amenadiel says and Dan nods, he is right there, Weaponizer Five really was the peakof the franchise. “I liked Dead Spy Walking, but I haven’t been able to see the sequel, Dead Spy Talking? Lucifer doesn’t have it.”

“Yeah, it isn’t streaming on Netflix  _ or _ Amazon Prime.” Dan says sympathetically. “I have a DVD copy though, you should come over and see it sometime?”

“Come over?” Amenadiel looks dubious.

“Yeah, to my apartment.” Dan clarifies, well aware that the extended Lucifer clan can sometimes be a bit strange and hoping he won’t have reason to regret the invitation. Before he can have second thoughts he scribbles down his phone number on a page from his notebook, tears it out, and hands it to Amenadiel. “Call me sometime, we can have a guys night.”

“I will,” Amenadiel says mildly, and then, more confidently like the idea is growing on him, “I will!”

“I’ve got to get back to my boss,” Dan says. “And it looks like this isn’t homicide. Regular patrol should finish things up with you. Just, um, try not to pick any more big fights with criminals.”

Amenadiel smiles, thinly, and Dan turns to go. The beat cop over by the ambulance is giving him strange looks and Dan realizes it looks like he just gave a random witness his number. 

Ah, well. He’s well aware office gossip says he’s due for a rebound relationship. 

 


End file.
